


Spandex

by kuriadalmatia



Series: Criminal Minds Icon Fic Challenge [12]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Slash, icon fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriadalmatia/pseuds/kuriadalmatia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somethings should be outlawed. Hotch wearing form-fitting bike shorts is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spandex

**Author's Note:**

> AKA "The Bike Shorts One"  
> No beta. All mistakes are mine. Standard disclaimers.  
> Icon artist: NoTimeToThink

* * *

It truly wasn't fair. Reid was reviewing Anderson's latest journal submission with the agent when Hotch exited his office. It was semi-late—nearly six o'clock, which was actually early if using 'Hotchner Time'—but that wasn't what drew his attention. It was what Hotch was _wearing_.

The ubiquitous suit was gone, replaced by...

Spandex.

Delicious, tight-fitting spandex.

In the form of a very tasteful, very proper, navy blue cycling uniform.

_Don't look. Do not look. Do_ **not** look.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/kuriadalmatia/pic/0001tbgc/)

_Damn. **Damn**. That outfit should be outlawed. **Definitely** outlawed._

The jersey was long-sleeved and had a zipfront, the shoulders capped with a slightly brighter azure tone. The shorts? The same azure pinstriped down each thigh.

And Reid knew for a fact that, _He never wears underwear._

Reid's grip on the pencil tightened, to which Anderson said, "Yeah, I hate that paragraph, too. It just doesn't feel right."

Hotch was shoulder to shoulder with one of the CIRG agents as they made their way through the nearly deserted bullpen, Hotch bogged down with his go bag and briefcase. Their voices seemed a little louder than usual as the CIRG agent cheerfully proclaimed that they were a cinch to win now that they had Hotch on their team.

_Stroking the ego._

Reid wanted to stroke other things, of course. He made a notation on Anderson's paper and the other agent muttered something about how shitastic his own grammar was nowadays.

Then, Hotch and the other man stopped at the BAU kitchen. The unit chief turned his back to Reid, presenting that nicely toned ass in full view. And Reid could not help but keep sneaking glances over there, knowing that Anderson was too wrapped up in getting his submission 'perfect' to really notice to Reid _not_ paying full attention.

One of Hotch's gloves dropped to the floor.

Reid knew what was coming next. Not him (not yet, anyway), but Hotch bending at the waist to pick them up.

Which he did, of course, slower than usual using the excuse of conversation to stretch out the action.

Bastard.

The entire BAU thought Hotch was a stuffed shirt when it came to flirting and being sexy. It was far from the case. Hotch was subtle...okay, not tonight but there was no one else in the bullpen really, hence the more overt gestures...but little things like the way he stirred his coffee. Adjusted his tie. Blew gently across the top of his piping hot tea to cool it down.

Hotch then looked over his shoulder and straightened. He glanced down at his watch and then turned around.

_The full frontal._

Reid prayed to deities he didn't believe in that he didn't just make a squeaking sound.

"Have a good evening," Hotch called out with a nod towards them.

Anderson said, "You do as well, sir."

Reid could only offer that stupid half-wave and knew... _knew_ that Hotch was inwardly laughing that he'd managed to get the resident genius tongue-tied.

Hotch and the other agent then sauntered out of BAU.

Reid, of course, began plotting.

* * *

It was a rule between Aaron and Spencer: they didn't sneak into each other's apartments as a surprise. The one and only time Aaron had done that, the senior agent found himself face first on the hardwood floor of Spencer's apartment, his arm wrenched behind his back, Spencer's knee firmly digging in to his lower back, and a Glock pressed hard against his temple.

"Spence! Spence! It's me! Aaron!"

It had taken Spencer a full minute to calm down enough to release him, rocking back on his heels and swearing, "Stercorem pro cerebro habes."

"Did you just curse me in Latin?"

"I'm not translating."

"Ah. Well. Um. Good to know that all that training with Morgan has paid off," Aaron had said, trying to lighten the mood.

Spencer glared. "I do my best work under extreme terror," he spat before getting up and cursing a bit more in Latin.

Since then, they made sure that they left each other some kind of indicator. All Spencer had done was leave a green sticky note with the apartment number written on it posted on Aaron's mailbox and, inside the apartment, the light on 'his' side of the couch. Unsure of Aaron would be arriving home with company, Spencer camped out in the master bedroom with his laptop.

He heard the tell-tale commotion of Aaron unlocking and opening the front door, then closing it. "Spence?" the other man called out, which was basically the all-clear.

Aaron had arrived home. Alone.

Good.

Spencer pushed the laptop under the bed and walked out to the main part of the apartment. Aaron was putting his briefcase and go bag in their spots by the front door.

He was still wearing the cycling outfit.

Except he was sweaty.

Deliciously sweaty.

Spencer strode up to him, pushed him back against the door, and then kissed him. Hard. Possessive. A bit on the punishing side. Aaron balked a little but then gave in, his hand settling on Reid's hips. After a few moments, he broke away and said huskily, "Let me get cleaned up."

Spencer ran a hand across the front of Aaron's shorts, fingers outlining his lover's half-hard cock. Aaron groaned and his head thunked against the door.

"Spence..."

He didn't verbally respond, running his tongue along Aaron's neck and then nibbling along his jawline. Spencer boldly plunged his hand into the tight shorts, grasping Aaron's bare cock, adjusting his stance, and then began stroking hard and fast.

"Spence!" Aaron gasped, grabbing on to the doorknob with one hand while the other latched onto the jamb to steady himself. "God..."

Spencer pressed himself firmly against Aaron's body, his own rock hard dick against his lover's thigh and his other hand flicking at the hardened nipples covered by the spandex. He pumped Aaron's cock with swift, sure strokes... the precise way Aaron needed in order to get off quickly.

Aaron bit his lips as his hips moved to counter Spencer's movements. "That's it," he moaned and arched. "God, can't believe how close..."

Spencer shushed him with another hard kiss as he continued the brisk pace. He could feel the tremors in Aaron's body building, the way his hips jerked when he was right on the edge, and the way the man's breath came in short, sharp bursts.

"Ah! Ah!" Aaron's skull thumped against the door and then his cock twitched in Spencer's hand as he came in warm, sticky spurts.

Spencer gave a few more tugs, riding it out until he knew that Aaron couldn't take any more. He slid his hand out from the shorts and then wiped the mess on the crotch front.

"Good God," Aaron panted as Spencer moved away. He was still gripping the doorknob and jamb tightly as he panted, looking debauched.

Spencer stepped back, adjusted himself, and admired his handiwork. "Serves you right for doing that to me at the office."

Aaron opened his eyes. He stared. Incredulously, he asked, " _That_ is supposed to be a deterrent?"

"Deterrent? No. But you'll never be able to put that outfit on again without thinking about this." Spencer grinned wickedly and nodded towards the desk chair. "I'll take my blowjob in the chair." He sauntered over to it, unbuckled his belt, undid his trousers' button and zipper, and pulled them down along with his boxers. He sat down, beckoned Aaron forward, and then leaned back. "I know you'll make it good."

It took a few seconds for the man to recover, but then a devilish smile spread his features. "You want payback?"

"Oh yes. Yes, indeed."

"You're on."

* * *

 


End file.
